


White Lies

by Aly After Dark (Alys_Gay_Parade)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aly's pain factory, Blood, Gen, It saves me from having to write actual full blown smut, Love off screen intimacy, Promiscuity, Suicide, the seduction of Fords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-04 17:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alys_Gay_Parade/pseuds/Aly%20After%20Dark
Summary: A better world is only viewed as such through a narrow lens. When you pull down the looking glass, you see the full picture.





	1. Chapter 1

Fiddleford awoke alone. In his dreams, Stanford was always there. The southern man dragged himself from bed, slapping the alarm clock as he did so. He quietly took a shower, brushed his teeth, and went to make breakfast; a routine he once shared with his partner long ago. He walked by the man’s office and his breath hitched. For a moment, he reached for the knob. But then his arm dropped to his side. Today was not the day. _Perhaps tomorrow_ , he thought again, just as he had yesterday, the day before, and every day since the incident. _Perhaps tomorrow_.

“Dad.” Tate greeted him coldly as he passed his father standing at the door. “Are ya gonna eat?” His tone was almost condescending. A reminder of his mistakes.

“Yeah, I am. Don't worry ‘bout me.” Fiddleford walked into the kitchen and made his toast quietly. He ate quickly and rushed out the door that led into the facility.

As Fiddleford walked the halls of the Institute of Oddology, his mind was swimming. Many faculty members gave him looks of sympathy as he passed them by. It was thirty years ago to the day. He walked into the portal room and looked at the machine he knew so intimately. He ran his hand along its frame as he thought about every dimension he'd gone to where a Ford didn't have his Fidds. He thought of every self indulgent act he'd carried out to forget the pain of losing his lover for even just a moment. Then he thought about that Stanford Pines. The one who had shown up out of the blue. The one he lied to.

The man had been rough around the edges, aged by years of fear. He'd been desperate, and Fiddleford felt his stomach twist at how that Ford sounded when talking about his Fidds. He remembered how he stopped himself from being the incorrigible flirt he was with any given Ford andwhelped him with the weapon to defeat Bill. He was then faced with a question.

_“Can I meet your Stanford?”_

Fiddleford sighed at the memory. He couldn't, but this man was on a mission he couldn't be distracted from. So he told a white lie.

_“No. Meeting your alternate self will cause this universe to become unstable and implode.”_

It was not an unreasonable statement. But it was starting to haunt him. He knew several Fiddlefords. He knew several Fords. Some of those universes overlapped and he was no longer welcome. So why was that the lie he decided to feed that Ford? Surely he would have met other Fords with similar goals and they could have worked together. All the missed opportunities. And how did he look, hiding the grim truth from this hopeful face he once knew?

“I have to tell him.” His voice was a whisper as he tuned the portal to dimension 43’/.

“Sir, what do you mean?” He carefully pushed an associate away.

“He needs to know the truth.” The room fell silent as he started the portal. They understood. Of course they did. Fiddleford grabbed his return switch and turned to his colleagues. “I'm bringing this with me so y’all can continue your exploratory research.” Without another word, he stepped through the portal.

In the event that they moved location, he didn't want to pop up in somebody's basement. So he had tuned the coordinates to a hiking trail. He remembered walking this path with his Ford so long ago. Their fingers laced, hands perfectly locking together. The late January wind hit Fiddleford through his jacket, and he continued down the path alone.

The shape of the building was unmistakable, but it was no longer a home. What stood before him was a tourist trap, The Mystery Shack. As he walked up, he stepped inside and looked around the gift shop. His eyes fell on a man, having a pleasant conversation with the owner, the parallel self of one of his younger engineers. The man looked just like Ford might today. Except he had five fingers. He turns to look at Fiddleford with surprise.  
“Fidds? Do you and Ford need-“ realization wafted over his face “-you aren't Fiddles. You look less... unstable.”

“I am a Fiddleford from a parallel dimension. I helped your Ford a while back and hoped to see if he was okay.” He kept his posture pristine and his breathing as even as he could. “I would appreciate if you could show me to him.”

“Yeah, sure. See ya later, Soos. Remember to mark up prices for Valentine's Day.” Fiddleford followed the man with a blank expression. “Yeah, Ford and I live with Fidds up in his manor.”

“Good ta know my parallel self is living well despite being, as you put it, unstable.” Fiddleford got into his car and breathed deeply. He had to keep himself together.

“You look anxious.” He hesitated for a moment before opening the glove box and offering Fidds a joint. “Here. My name's Stan, by the way.”

“I'm aware.” Fiddleford took the blunt and allowed Stan to light it so he could maybe relax.

“I just know my Ford never talked about me, so-"

“Just take me to the manor so I can talk to him. You should probably listen in, too.”

They drove in silence for a few moments before Stanley noticed the emblem on Fiddleford's blazer. “Institute od Oddology? You and your Ford set that up?”

“More or less.”

They continued with a thicker silence. Fiddleford's leg began to bounce. He wanted to break down as he did on this day every year. But he had a mission.

Stan led him inside with intrigue and stopped at the front room. “Go ahead and sit down. I'll get Ford.” He took a deep breath and yelled loudly, “STANFORD!”

“COMING!” Fiddleford took his seat on the couch as he heard Ford tripping over himself and literally falling down the stairs. He landed face down on the ground, his head giving a metallic clunk. “I'm okay.” As Ford made his way into the living room, he stopped at the sight of his parallel earth friend.

“Hello, Stanford.”

“What in the wonderful name of our lord and savior is going on down here?” As his parallel self started to make his way down, Ford ran over.

“Honey, there's another version of you visiting me if you two make contact, you'll-"

“I lied about that, Stanford." All eyes were on him now. “Let him come listen to what I gotta say.”

“Why did you lie…?” The question hit Fiddleford like a brick, but it was too late now. He had to answer.

“It starts back at the portal incident. After that, I fled and used the memory gun every time I remembered what had happened. Meanwhile, you needed me and I ignored you.” Fiddleford stood and began to pace as he spoke, trying desperately to hang on to the illusion of cohesion. “I realized after a little while what it was doing to me and followed my Ford's advice to be rid of it. Stanley had already left with the journal when I returned.”

Fiddleford watched the brothers share a glance before continuing. “We spent the next few months repurposing the portal technology and recalibrating it while setting up paperwork to build the Institute of Oddology. With Bill's threat neutralized, we were back on schedule. That's when the first domino fell.”

_Ford hummed with genuine happiness for the first time in months. “Fidds, when we turn in this paperwork, we will be the leading experts in the supernatural and the first to embark on interdimensional travel.”_

_“Don't stroke your ego too hard.”_

_“Yes, yes. That is precisely what got me into trouble the first time.” As he finished tying his tie, the phone beside him began to ring. The rudimentary caller id Fiddleford had set up labelled it as his parents. “Hello?”_

_“Stanford! It's Stanley, he- he-" Caryn's words were cut short by her incoherent sobs. Ford could hear his father yelling through tears behind her. He heard the phone get passed off and could clearly hear Filbrick choking back tears._

_“Son… your brother has been home for a few months. Said he had nowhere to go so I let him stay to kinda… try ta make up for what I did back then. Your mother and I were doing what we could to cheer him up. But. I- We just- He-"_

_“Dad, what happened?” His father being at a loss for words was something new._

_“He hung himself in your old room last night. We found him about fifteen minutes ago.”_

_Ford dropped the phone._

_“Stanford?”_

_He couldn't hear Fidds. His voice and Filbrick's became lost to the background. Stan probably thought Ford didn't want him around at all. He had left in a huff. Oh god, what did he do? Ford fell to his knees and started crying uncontrollably. His hands shook with the knowledge that Stan's blood was on them._

“We flew out for the funeral a week later.” Fiddleford watched the brothers and his parallel self stare with moths agape. They had no words. Of course they didn’t. “We stayed there for a couple nights. I told them how close Ford and I actually were. They accepted me with open arms. We actively avoided his childhood bedroom. Nobody wanted to be where they had found Stan.”

“What happened next?” Ford went to sit beside Fiddleford, and his other self joined him on the other side.

“I tried for months to help him feel better. He hardly left his office anymore. I left one day to-" Fiddleford looked to the ring on his left hand as he touched the two magnetic rings he kept on a chain around his neck “-to pick up some rings I had ordered from the jeweler in town. I was going to propose to him. When I went to his office… and I opened the door… I… He…”

_Fiddleford flew up the stairs with jubilance, leaving a four year old Tate to play on the Atari in the living room. He was so glad to live in this weird little town where they accept any and all walks of life. He knew what he had to do the moment he talked to the court about whether he and his boyfriend could marry and they said they'd allow it... since he'd finished the divorce papers, of course. He had immediately special ordered the rings. And now he had the perfect engagement ring For a certain six fingered hand in a velvet box in his coat pocket. His hand rested on the door knob and he pushed it open._

_“Stanford! I have a surprise for-" Ford lay motionless in his chair. Blood spattered the walls behind him and dripped into a large puddle on the floor. In one hand, a pistol was tightly clenched. Fiddleford felt his stomach twist with agony at the sight. He desperately wished he was dreaming as he fell to the ground and scooted away from the scene._

_He ran to the living room, calling the authorities. As he waited, he called Ford's parents to deliver the news. There was chaos. Pain. Crying. The sound of Caryn blaming Filbrick for everything before presumably clinging to him as they both lost all composure and cried. Fiddleford could hear twelve-year-old Sherman in the background lose it as he learned that he now had no brothers._

_The police brought Fiddleford the note that was clenched in Ford's other hand_

_“Fiddleford,_

_“I love you. And I know this will hurt, but I cannot go on knowing that MY careless wording and actions led Stanley to take his own life. I cannot live with his blood on my hands. And I cannot live in a world where he no longer exists. I leave to you all of my assets in the hopes that while I walk with my brother in the afterlife, you will continue our research._

_“Forever yours,_

_“Stanford Pines”_

“He was buried beside his brother in Jersey. I did as he asked me to. I moved into his home and threw myself into work. But that memory still haunts me. I'm sure Tate blames me for walking out in the first place.”

The three men he spilled his guts to look at him with sullen expressions as Ford hugs him. “You may not have your Ford anymore… but you have us. You can come to this dimension and visit whenever you want.”

Fiddleford finally breaks and begins to sob incoherently in Ford's arms. A Ford that isn't his. A Ford with a different life, like every other Ford he ever had relations with to forget about his. Then the words finally leave his lips. “I couldn't do enough.”

“Ya did everything ya could, hun.” The alternate Fiddleford took his hand with a smile.

“You did your damnedest to love and nurture him after he lost the only person he cared about more than you or his research.” Stan walks up and takes his other hand.

“I'm sure,” Ford started as he turned Fidds to look at him, “that he would have said yes. You did enough. You went above and beyond. And I'm sure if he's with you, he still loves you more than anything.”

“Is it… is it alright if I stay with y'all for a few days? I… I need a break.” Ford sat him on the couch and kept an arm around him.

“Of course.”

“We'd love ya to, hun.”

“You're always welcome here, man.”

When Fiddleford eventually pressed the return button and sent himself home, he quietly stopped at Ford's office. For the first time in thirty years, he opened the door to be faced with the same grizzly scene, minus the body. Without a word, he began cleaning decades old stains.

“I'm okay, Ford. You can let go.” A cold hand placed itself on his shoulder, followed by another with one less finger on the other. “If you want to stay, then I can't make you leave. But I need an office. And I thought that… you might be sick of the blood anyway.” A pair of arms wrap around him, and he lets tears fall with a smile. “It's okay. Besides, in case Dipper tries to break in here again, I don't want him to see this. I've got y'all's family ta look after me, and a place I can go if I'm overwhelmed. I'm okay.”

“Thank you.” The voice is right in Fidds' ear.

“You're welcome, love. Now, if ya got the energy, can ya help me? I figure with all this electro magnetic energy from the ufo, you're like… super ghosts.” A book is playfully tossed from a shelf, and for the first time in decades… Fiddleford doesn't feel alone.


	2. Dehydration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully apologize for the roller coaster you're about to embark on.

Fiddleford sat at his desk, writing down the results of his latest research. The office was dead silent save for the ticking of a clock. Somewhere else in the house, he could hear the laughter of Dipper and Mabel, presumably because Stan was manifesting to them. He knew that Ford was probably near him, staying invisible so he didn’t startle Fiddleford.

“Dad.” Tate’s voice was muffled on the other side of the door, and it left Fiddleford with a grimace. “Dad, come on. You can’t lock yourself in his office all the time.”

“It’s my office, Tater.” Fiddleford’s tone was laced with barely traceable frustration. “And I told ya not to bother me while I’m workin’.” The sound of the door unlocking caught Fiddleford’s attention. “Stanford, you are a pain in my ass sometimes.”

Tate pushed himself into the room and closed the door behind him, making sure to relock it. “Dad. You haven’t left the office at all. I hardly see ya anymore.”

“Didn’t think ya wanted to.” Fiddleford doesn’t look up at his son, instead keeping his gaze to the paperwork in front of him.

“Well, I might not, but Caryn and Filbrick are here visiting, and they want to see their son-in-law.” Fiddleford stopped writing and pulled himself up.

“It is their birthday today, ain’t it?”

“Yeah. And their parents flew all the way out here to spend time with you, Shermie, and the kids. So, you need to come out of the office for just a little bit.”

When Fiddleford entered the living room, he was bombarded by Caryn hugging him. He looked over at Filbrick, who stood looking off to one side. But he couldn’t hide that smirk. “You two look better than I’ve seen ya in a while.”

“Meh,” Filbrick tried to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, “we recently had a long conversation about what happened. We’re okay.”

“Filbrick, you were sobbing like a baby with your head in my lap and blaming yourself for everything. I hardly classify that as a conversation.” Caryn looked back to Fiddleford with a big smile. “But he is right... we’re okay. And you were... in the office? Fiddsy, honey, are you okay?” She gently took the rings hanging from Fiddleford’s neck between her fingers. The distant look in Fiddleford’s eyes was telling.

“It’s fine. They’re still... still here. I ain’t alone.” He was met with sad stares. Filbrick even removed his sunglasses to make eye contact. The air suddenly felt thick. It was suffocating. Fiddleford took a few steps back, overwhelmed by pity. “Y-Y’all don’t gotta worry ‘bout me.” He needed to get away. “I-I- I gotta- gotta get back to work-”

He bolted back into the office, locking the door behind him before sitting in a ball underneath the desk. He tightly hugged his knees to his chest and let old tears wash down his cheeks again. He heard the door unlock before Tate slammed it open and shut again.

“Dad, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“There ain’t nothing wrong with me, Tater, I Just-”

“Don’t give me that! You hide away in this office that’s still got stains of the day, pretending that you’re okay.”

“I  _am_  okay.”

“No, ya ain’t, now come out here and listen to what I gotta say to you.” Fiddleford slowly crawled out from under the desk and sat in the chair, facing his son. “At some point, you gotta own up to the fact that running away from your problems like this is what got both of them killed in the first place.”

“Now, Tater, that’s hardly fai-”

“No... you listen.” Fiddleford shut his mouth as Tate leaned on the desk and glowered at him. “If you hadn’t run off, you coulda been there to keep them from fightin’. If they hadn’t fought, Stan woulda come back. If Stan hadn’t killed himself, Ford would still be here, and I would still have two happy parents and an uncle.”

Fiddleford felt anger bubbling up beneath him before it finally burst. “Well, if the way I cope with this is such a burden, why don’t you go live with your mother?!”

“Because she’s dead, dad! Emma-may Dixon is fucking dead! And that’s your fault, too.”

Fiddleford felt his heart drop. “W-what?” Sure, he and Emma-may only got married because they were both gay, needed to keep up appearances for their families, and wanted kids, but... she was his best friend other than Stanford. “How is that my fault?”

“After the divorce, she went back to Tennessee. And eventually came out as a lesbian to her family because they kept asking why she wasn’t settling down. She and her girlfriend were lynched in the streets, dad.”

Fiddleford’s head was swimming with all this information. He felt like he was going to vomit. Tate lost two of three parents because he was stupid, selfish, and a coward. Fiddleford lost his two closest friends. He could hardly hear Tate yelling anymore. He couldn’t feel anything anymore. He stood and slowly walked passed his son. He entered the hallway, ignoring the Pines giving him sympathetic stares. 

“Yeah, sure, just run away like ya always do!”

He slowly made his way to the portal room, grabbing his return switch and going through.

He wasn’t sure why he came to this interdimensional nightclub. Maybe, he thought, he could let go for a bit. Sure, he could go bother his newfound friends, but... they were probably spending time with their Dipper and Mabel. It was Stan and Ford’s birthday. He didn’t want to intrude.

With his train of thought beginning to settle, his eyes fell on somebody. A Ford, drinking alone. An old scar crosses over his face, diagonally between his eyes. He nursed his glass of whiskey with a sullen loom to his eyes. Fiddleford felt old indulgences hit him like a brick. He grabs a shot glass off the tray of a passing waitress and downs it before walking over.

“Howdy. Fancy that, seeing a Ford here.” He takes a seat next to the Ford with a small smile. “What’s got you lookin’ so down in the dumps?”

“It’s mine and my Stan’s birthday, but he died with everybody else when Bill destroyed my dimension.” The Ford finishes his glass before prompting the bartender to pour him another. Fiddleford scooted slightly closer to him. “I thought, maybe... I could forget for a bit.”

“Well...” Fiddleford scooted slightly closer to this Ford, filled with his own grief, “My Ford and Stan have been dead for a very long time. I continued our research... but it’s... lonely. Do you miss your Fiddleford?”

“More than the world. I never got to apologize.” He took another long sip of his alcohol. Fiddleford made note of how it smelled like cinnamon.

“I think he woulda forgiven you.” Fiddleford placed a hand on the Ford’s arm and started to feel the shot he took kick in. His inhibitions were still lingering. He could feel himself becoming disgusted at the thought of what he was trying to do. “Can I get a glass, please?”  _Just down a glass of shitty cinnamon whiskey. You'll feel better,_ _Fiddsy_ _._  He downed the glass carelessly, feeling the burn of cinnamon through his body. But sure enough, it kicked in quick, and his fears melted away.

“You seem so sure that he’d forgive me.”

“I fergave my Stanferd. And I know me, I’m a very fergivin’ human bein’.” He leaned his head on the Ford’s shoulder and looked up at him with large blue eyes. His fingers traced over the Ford’s arm with such a delicate touch, as if he was made of thin, hollow porcelain. He felt the Ford’s breathing change suddenly, and that’s when he knew he had him. “Why dun we ferget our troubles-” he brought his mouth to Ford’s ear, “-privately?” Ford’s face went bright pink as he let out a long breath.  _Like putty in my hands._

Fiddleford led the Ford on a stagger to the restrooms. Once alone, he wrapped his arms over the shorter man’s shoulders and pressed their lips together in a sloppy, yet tight, seal. Fiddleford relished in every sound the alternate Ford made under his touch, forgetting for a moment that his own was dead and gone. He broke their kiss for a moment to lift the other man up by his rear and pin him to the wall.

“F-Fiddleford... I...”

“Yeah?”

“F-Fuck...”

“That’s what we’re plannin’ on doin’, yeah.”

“M-Maybe we shouldn’t do this in a public bathroom... tacky.”

“Since when has a Stanford ever cared about tactful behavior while blackout drunk?” He looked at Ford’s brown eyes, full of want. A face that was such a deep crimson he could almost feel the blood pulsing beneath the skin as he ran his thumb over Ford’s cheek. The smell of cinnamon liquor wafting from him with every breath.

“P-Please... I want this... just not here.” He held the Ford close as he pressed the button on his return switch, summoning his portal home. He carried Ford through as the shorter man began pressing kisses to his neck. Thankfully, no faculty were near the portal.

Fiddleford kept shushing his companion as he carefully avoided the family that was quietly discussing in the living room. He carried Ford into the office, closing the door and locking it behind him. “How’s an office for ya?”

The Stanford looked to the dark spot on the wooden floor, stained from the decades-old incident. “Is this where your Ford-?”

“Does it matter?”

“I mean, I’ve had more morbidly fucked up sexual encounters, so not really.”

“So, shut up and just enjoy it. Let me make ya feel good.” Ford closed his eyes as Fiddleford pushed him back onto the desk, bumping the record player in the process. The jarring sound of a bluegrass rendition of “Careless Whisper” filled the room, prompting Fiddleford to drop everything and try to shut it off in a panic.

The Ford just started to laugh. The absurdity. “How do you take such a sensual song and turn it into utter chaos?” Fiddleford tried to quiet his laughter, knowing full well what would happen if he were to be caught. He presses his mouth to the Ford’s, relief washing over him as the other man once again melted in his arms. He sank to the floor, still holding his fling, and was so enthralled by the feeling of control that he didn’t hear one of the two spirits that plagued him unlock the door. Or the door open.

“Dad...?” Fiddleford looked up from the hickey he was placing on the other Ford’s neck to see not only Tate, but the Pines, staring at him in shock.

He just broke his one rule.

Never bring a Ford home.

His buzz was instantly killed as his brain kickstarted. The panic bells rang. He was frozen solid. The looks of dismay on his family’s faces. He felt himself begin shaking. His breathing became uneven. The look of anger that crossed his son’s eyes.  _I need to get the hell out of here._  He dropped the Ford and began running out the door and toward the portal room.

“Dad!”

He ignored the tears in his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Fiddleford, wait!”

Filbrick’s voice was hoarse. He was probably trying to hobble after.

“Grunkle FIdds, come on!”

He heard Dipper trip over his shoelaces and kept going. He tuned the portal remotely and threw himself through, landing on the carpet of the manor’s front room and rolling to the feet of his friends in a heap, crying incoherently.

“Fiddleford?” Stan knelt down to help the man sit up.

“D-Don’t- touch me.” He was hyper aware of every feeling of contact, and Stan stepped back at his outburst.

“What... happened?” Ford’s voice was smooth. Gentle. Almost like his own Ford’s was. Oh, god, how he missed the feeling of his lover in his arms. The gentle, breathless whispers of his name in the night. He pulled his knees close and began to rock, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Ah... Ah seduced a Stanferd out in the multiverse... an’ brought him home. Caryn an’ Filbrick, Sherman, the kids... they were all there. An’ Tater... that’s- that’s the angriest I ever done saw ‘im.” His accent began to slip and mix with every bit of cohesion he lost, and Ford got up to pour him a drink.

“Here, loosen up a bit. You look like death.” Fiddleford took Ford’s whiskey – the same cheap smell from the nightclub – and drank it down without hesitation. He  _had_  to rid himself of this guilty feeling as quickly as possible. He  _needed_  to numb his senses for  _just one fucking moment_. Stan led his alternate self out of the room to go hang out with the kids, while Ford lifted the drunken southern man from the ground and carried him to a spare room with a sigh. He set the man in bed and pulled the blanket over him before turning to leave.

“Wait-” Fiddleford grabbed his sleeve, “-dun’ leave... please.” Fiddleford looked up to him with pleading eyes and Ford was stuck in a moral battle. He  _knew_  what this man was doing. This Fiddleford before him was more reminiscent of the man he knew in college: no fear, no inhibitions... just a need to do as he pleased with no repercussions.

“Fiddleford... I shouldn’t stay with you right now. I have my Fidds, and with how drunk you are right now, I’d be the one responsible for anything that happens.” Fiddleford’s hand relaxed to be resting on Ford’s arm, but Ford didn’t shy away. Fiddleford slowly grabbed his hand, watching the struggle on Ford’s face. “I... I should go.”

“But’chyain’t, is ya?” Fiddleford gave a weak tug at Ford’s hand, prompting him to sit on the edge of the bed. “What’chya thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“About... how my Fiddleford used to look and act just like this.”

“Do ya miss that?”

“I mean... a little? It made things more spontaneous and fun.”

“I can-” Fiddleford moved his hand to Ford’s thigh, causing him to tense up, “-make ya feel that again.”

“I-” Ford placed his hand on Fiddleford’s, but couldn’t bring himself to move it. “We really... shouldn’t...” As Fiddleford went to pull his hand away, Ford found himself holding it in place.  _What the hell are_ _these emotions_ _?_  

“Then why ya holdin’ me there, love?” Fiddleford ran his hand over Ford’s leg, prompting him to gasp. “Hun, it’s just ya leg.”

“I-I just-” Ford promptly got up and left the room, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. He wasn’t really sure what the fuck just happened there. But he... didn’t  _dislike_  it. “I just need a drink to cool my head.” He went and unlocked his liquor cabinet and poured a glass of his favorite whiskey. He looked between the glass and the bottle before just chugging straight from the source. He chugged until he needed to breathe, taking a large gulp for air. Almost immediately, he felt more at ease.

Ford wandered back to the spare room that he left his friend in. He stood at the door and wondered if he should indulge this behavior. How would the others react if they found out? He could only presume not well. Ford opened the door with a sigh as the alcohol went into full effect. Fiddleford was sitting on the edge of the bed and gave him a surprised, but inviting look. He was really going to do this.  _He was going to do this_.

Ford sat beside Fiddleford and let himself be pulled onto the bed with a flurry of kisses along his jawline. He closed his eyes and relaxed as Fiddleford gently bit down at the nape of his neck, letting through a noise he hadn’t made since college. His breathing hitched as he felt hands find their way under his sweater and up his chest, exploring terrain both familiar but totally new. Fiddleford’s lips found his own and Ford let himself wrap his arms around Fiddleford, waiting patiently for what he might do.

“How rough do ya wan me ta be, hun?” The words were slurred, and Ford took a few breaths, marveling at how heated the exchange had gotten in just a few minutes.

“Just fuck me up.”

“Yer gon’ wish ya hadn’t said that in a moment.” Fiddleford removed his belt and used it to tie Ford’s hands to the bed frame. He removed Ford’s belt and put it around the shorter man’s neck. “If ya misbehave... there will be punishment.”

“S-Safe word? Please?” Ford’s voice wavered at the prospect of Fiddleford being so controlling. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy the thought, it’s more that it came almost out of nowhere to him.

“Hmm... let’s make it somethin’ you’ll remember. Tesla.”

“T-Tesla?”

“Yeah, ya get it.” Fiddleford began to undo Ford’s pants, smiling at the look of almost fear on the man’s face. “Ya act like ya never been tied down before.”

“Well, I mean... not by somebody who looks like a druid gave a stick sentienc-” The belt around his neck is pulled with a sudden force. Ford looks up to Fiddleford, in awe of how intimidating he looks in the low lighting. He almost forgot that the belt around his neck was restricting oxygen.

“I thought I said no misbehavin.” Fiddleford took a glance downward and smirked. “Looks like yer enjoin’ that, ain’tchya Stanferd?” He loosened his grip before continuing his endeavors. Fiddleford took a moment to glance over this Ford’s body, scarred and tattooed. “Oh, that one’s cute.” He pressed a finger against the “all-star” tattoo on Ford’s neck, smirking at the mewl he let out. “Yer sensitive today.”

“I-I-”

“How long have ya wanted yer Fidds to dominate ya?”

“ _God_ , so long...”

“Really now?”

“F-Fuck.”

“I ain’t even done nothin’ to ya and yer already sweatin’ and pantin’ like a damn dog.” Fiddleford gave another full tug on the makeshift leash before letting it fall slack. “Speak.” Ford gave out a whine and arched his back, begging for contact. “Oh, I bet this is torture.”

“Fidds, just fuck m-” The belt is pulled tight again, causing Ford to choke on his words.

“Beggin’?”

“ _Y-Yes_...”

Fiddleford was about to comply when the door opened. He turned to face a very confused Stan. “Did nobody ever teach ya to knock?”

“What... the fuck...?” Stan blinked at this alternate Fiddleford kneeling over his bound, half-naked twin. “I won’t say anything to anybody. Just know that this is weird.”

“Good. Now git.” As the door closed again, Fiddleford looked back down at his prize. He placed his hand on Ford and gently stroked him, watching the pure extasy that crossed the man’s face. “Good boy...”

On the other side of the wall, a more aged Fiddleford wandered down the hall with a carefree smile. As he passed by a certain door, he heard muffled voices coming from within. He pressed his ear against the door with curiosity.

“Keep yer voice down, dun’ want yer Fidds hearing.”

“S-Sorry, Fidd-” Ford’s words are cut short and it sounds like he’s choking slightly.

“I’m sorry, what were ya gon’ call me?”

“S-Sir. I was going to call you Sir.” Ford’s voice was breathy, as though he was exerting himself. “You’re just... so good at what you do, Sir.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Stanferd.”  Ford gave out a few subdued whines, causing the alternate Fiddleford to laugh. “What, don’t tell me yer close already? I’ve barely gotten started.”

“F-Fidds, I-” Ford’s voice was cut short by another choke, and the silence that ensued was fairly long.

“Oh, well, wouldya look at that? Makin’ a mess on my behalf.” Fiddleford finally busted into the room, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Ford laid tied to the bed post climax, a very disappointed alternate Fiddleford bent over him. “Yer a disaster ya know?”

Fiddleford looked at the scene with a blinding rage building within him. “I take you into my home. I give you my sympathy. And this is how you repay me?!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, can people learn to knock?” The alternate Fiddleford left his catch and walked his way over, swaying and almost falling in the process. “I’m sorry that yer calling back to our backwater, hillbilly farm town ancestry and can’t give ‘im what he wants because of yer poor lifestyle choices hinderin’ yer ability to function.

“I- you- exCUSE ME?”

“Ya heard me, ya walking pile of matchsticks.” The alternate Fiddleford circled Fidds with a smug smirk and a careless air. “Yer hunched in yer age, ya look like the wind could blow ya over, and ya may just break a bone liftin’ anythin’ heavier than a mayonnaise jar. It ain’t no wonder why ya can’t please the man.”

“Git outta my house.”

“Fiddleford’s, please-”

“You stay outta this!” The two yelled in unison before Fiddleford threw a punch. Alternate Fidds is knocked back before checking to see that, yes, his nose was indeed bleeding.

“I beg yer pardon?”

“Git. Outta. My. Manor.”

“Fidds. Look at me.” FIddleford turned his enraged stare to Ford before walking over and letting him up. “Fiddleford, I may be a bit drunk, but I willingly indulged him.”

“Why?!”

“Because... because I felt bad for him. He needed... somebody. And I... I can’t say no to the face of a distraught Fiddleford.”

“Can’t he just  _move on_? It’s what his Ford would want.”

“The man’s been working so hard, he never got to properly grieve.”

“Well, I didn’t grieve-”

“You didn’t need to grieve because you didn’t even know who I was, let alone that I was gone!” Ford’s words came out a bit more forceful than he’d intended. He watched tears prick the corners of Fiddleford’s eyes before being shoved slightly.

“Why don’tchya go home with him for a few days? You’re clearly making a choice here.”

“Fidds, come on-”

“Leave, Stanford. I don’t wanna see you for a bit.”

“Fine. Understandable.” He took a deep breath and make himself presentable before storming out of the room. He shouldered by a confused Stan, who stopped the dimensional outsider in the hallway.

“Not to delve into anybody’s personal affairs, but... I’m guessing our Fidds caught you?”

“Yes.” Fiddleford tried to compose himself as best he could. “He will be returning home with me for a few days while we let your Fiddleford calm down. He did strike a bit of a low blow, even I must say.”

“Fidds has Tate to look after him. I’m coming too.”

“Unnecessary.”

“No. I don’t want him going anywhere alone in this state.”

“So be it. Get ready and meet me out front.”

Fiddleford led the twins back through the portal home and was greeted in the portal room by his son and the Pines. “Don’t worry, you won’t be catching anything like earlier. His Fiddleford is just very upset with him at the moment so he needed an escape.” He tried to walk through the crowd before being stopped by Filbrick. “Sir, please...”

“Call me dad, you half-wit.” Fiddleford remained silent as tears fell down his cheeks. “Listen. I can’t speak for your son... but none of us are mad. You were about to propose to him when you lost him. You lost that chance. You lost the one person you were most intimate with. If I was in your shoes and that happened to Caryn? I can see myself doing the same thing.”

“Fiddsy, love...” Caryn took his hand with a gentle smile. “You singlehandedly kept Filbrick and I together. We were so distraught and on the verge of falling apart, but... you needed a family. We both saw that and decided it was better to suffer together for somebody we both cared for.”

“Dude.” Sherman placed a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. “When I lost my brothers, you stepped in to be one. You’ve been doing everything by yourself, for everybody  _but_  yourself. We don’t hate you for occasionally cracking under the pressure.”

“Yeah, and if we’re completely honest,” Dipper started before Mabel continued, “what Tate said about his mom was a low blow.”

Filbrick took his cane and lightly bonked Tate on the back of the head. “Apologize, you knucklehead.”

“Sorry I... blamed you for mom. It... It ain’t your fault.” Fiddleford felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him and as he fell, he was caught by the parallel Stans.

“Perhaps we should get him to his bed... he could really use the rest.” Ford hauled Fiddleford over his shoulder and dragged him into his bedroom. He set the man up before pulling out the blacklight to reveal the ghost of his alternate self, expression dripping with concern. “I’ll be here to take care of him for a few days. Once the alcohol is out of his system, he should be back to normal. You really need to learn how to manifest so you can tell him not to make bad decisions.”

“I... I don’t like to. I much prefer to be here in silence. Stanley has always been the bolder twin.”

“Then have Stan do the talking. You two need to look out for him before he winds up dead in a ditch somewhere because he wronged the wrong set of Pines. He has absolutely zero coping skills, you know that.”

“I guess you’re correct. And what of you and your Fiddleford?”

“Oh, he can’t stay mad at me forever. That man doesn’t have a single grudge holding bone in his body.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Okay, not my Fiddleford these days. Holding a grudge is what cooked his brain and left him in the dump for thirty years.” The two stayed silent for a while before Ford broke the silence again. “I can’t imagine the pain you felt before taking your life.”

“It was... not ideal. The thought that Stanley’s blood was on my hands made me physically ill every single day. I... I was convinced that my negligence killed my brother.”

“Was convinced?”

“As... As it turned out, he had people after him. Drug lords, mob bosses, leaders of a human trafficking ring... he took his own life to protect everybody because he was receiving letters threatening mom, dad, me, and even Sherman. He didn’t want anybody else to suffer for his mistakes.”

Ford sat on the ground, leaning against the bed with a sigh. “I’m glad you know that now. That you two are together. I just wish your Fiddleford could be okay.”

“I had no idea he was going to propose. If I’d had an inkling, I would have held on for him.”

“I guess every Ford has one thing in common: We’re damned fools.”


	3. Starvation

“I may not be  _your_  dad, but I’m still the father of  _a_  Stanford, so let me be the first to ask: What the hell is wrong with you?” The two living Stans sat awkwardly in the living room with their alternate family. Stanford had explained the situation and why they’d be there for a few days, but he didn’t expect to be confronted by his parallel self’s father, of all people. “I always knew that my sons were all dumb as hell, but I didn’t think it spanned the  _multiverse_.”

“I resent that!” the echoing, ethereal voice of that dimension’s Stan chimed as he manifested beside his living counterpart. “We’re still here, remember?” Filbrick opened his mouth to say something but closed it with a grumble as Caryn placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Filbrick... dad? … what do I even refer to you as? You aren’t the Filbrick that raised me, but you are still a Filbrick.”

“Are all your multiverse adventures this confusing?” Stan asked his brother, who’s expression carried the weight of his own confusion.

“Yes. Yes, they are.” Ford sat with his head in his hands for a few moments before composing himself. “Sir, you have to understand. I'm very easily manipulated. Especially by the distraught face of a Fiddleford.”

“Okay,” FIlbrick started, “another question: Stan, if you and your brother could manifest this whole time, why did you never console Fiddleford? Kid was grief stricken, coulda easily followed suit.”

The spirit floated over to nonchalantly lay across the laps of the living twins, brows furrowed in thought. “Somethin' about Ford ghost proofing his office when he was alive trapping us in there? He refuses to manifest to explain his jargon, I dunno. But, until Fiddlesticks opened the door, we were stuck. Couldn't even pass on if we wanted to.”

Ford sat lost in thought before slapping his hand to his forehead. “Of course, the ghosts from Dan's cabin. They followed me home back in my dimension. Your son must have closed off his office from spirits for peace and quiet and never undid the charm.”

“So you couldn't console him because you were literally unable to get to him?” Filbrick let out a long sigh. “Shoulda known it was something stupid. It always is.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don't think calling your dead son an idiot is going to do you any favors. Angering the dead can turn their spirits vengeful and transform them into something uncontrollable and dangerous.” Ford stood and stretched, shaking his head. “Every Filbrick is the same hardheaded stubborn ass.” FIlbrick stood with a dominant stance, growling at Ford, and Ford returned the gesture as their eyes locked.

Caryn placed her hand on each man's shoulder with a stern expression. “We are not going to start a fight in this house, boys. So stop acting like  _raging toddlers_  and actually  _communicate your feelings_  in a  _meaningful manner_.” The two men looked to her with slight fear in their eyes before grumbling and crossing their arms. “That was an order, not a request.”

“Okay, here's my forty years’ worth of feelings.” Filbrick looked to the living Ford with a furrowed brow. “I personally feel like you being disloyal to your Fidds is a big slap in the face. And that all of this could have been prevented if… if I hadn't kicked Stan out.” Filbrick sighed and sat on the couch with a twisted frown. “Who am I kidding? You're right. I'm a disgrace of a parent. My actions got both my oldest sons killed, and I can’t even face that with dignity.”

“Good to see you’re more reasonable than our father.” Ford sat himself back down, crossing his legs.

“Why isn’t Ford manifesting?” Caryn directed her question to her son’s spirit, floating with an irked expression. “Why doesn’t he talk to us like you are?”

“He... I think he wants to move on. But he can’t because Fidds won’t. And I won’t. I don’t know why he wants to move on. I mean, Dipper and Mabel, you two are a joy to be around, we never got to properly say goodbye to any of you, we’ve been locked in a room for thirty years! He’s got so much to see and he  _can_.” Stan floated beside where his brother presumably was standing invisible. Hiding.

“Sounds to me like you’re too much of a sap to let go.” The living Stan’s quip made his spirit counterpart fly directly through him, resulting in extreme discomfort. He sat shivering for several seconds before feeling the spot that was flown through. “Okay, sorry. Please don’t ever do that again.”

“While all of you sit here talking about feelings that don’t matter, I’m going to check on Fiddleford. He is what’s important right now.” Ford stood and walked up to the bedroom, gently pushing open the door. “Fidds?” All he got in response was a groan. “Hangover?”

“I always do this to mahself when I get too upset.” Fiddleford slowly sat up, holding his head. “I... I’m sorry. I totally understand if I ain’t welcome in your dimension anymore.”

“Fiddleford... I’m not going to say not to apologize because you very clearly have a knack for seducing Fords, but... it isn’t entirely your fault.” Ford sat on the bed with him with a sigh. “I’d be lying if I said I never... seduced a Fiddleford in the mutliverse. When you think you’ll never get home... sometimes you... indulge the only way you can.”

“Stanford, I’m surprised...”

“Listen, is it really cheating if you’re the same person?”

“I...” Fiddleford sat there for a moment, blinking. “Y-Yes. Yes, it is. If my Ford were alive and saying that to my face, I’d slap him.”

“You don’t seem to care.”

“Well, that’s because I technically have no partner with my Ford being... dead an’ all.” Fiddleford grabbed a pillow and hugged it tightly, wanting to just sink into the void. “I know I shouldn’t go around sleeping with other Fords. But... I... it’s the only thing that makes me feel real anymore.”

“I mean... I really do understand the feeling. And I honestly don’t understand why my Fidds was so mad, I mean- it isn’t like I went and fucked some random person. It was another Fiddleford.” Ford sighed and stood with a smile. “Listen... come downstairs... let’s make some lunch, because it’s past noon... and we can hash this out with your family. They blame me more than you.”

Ford led Fiddleford down by the hand, watching as he shied away from the prying eyes of his family. He broke off into the kitchen, leaving Ford to sit back on the couch with a frown.

“Why is he so scared of us?” Caryn’s voice echoed the concerns of all the Pines in the room. “We’ll hear him out...”

“He’s had... a rough twenty-four hours. And he has a hangover. Let the man recover.” Ford was beginning to feel a bit interrogated himself, in all honesty. All these prying eyes watching his every move… why? It's not like he was about to drop dead in front of them. No, their stares were more accusatory. Like he might hurt Fidds. They all seemed to care for the tall southern man. Except Tate. Tate stared into Ford's soul with a deeply rooted anger. Ford only had to take one look at him to know he had given his own father that look too many times.

His eyes were cold, devoid of any light. Almost as if the trauma he'd endured as a child killed him and left an empty husk in his place. He wasn't frowning, per se. His face was resting naturally, making the death in his eyes more prominent. Tate was done hiding resentment. He was ready to show how angry he truly was. And that thought scared Ford.

It was at this point he and his twin noticed the silence hanging thick. It was insufferable. Ford felt like his throat was closing. He immediately excused himself to help Fiddleford in the kitchen.

“God, everybody in this dimension is just… overbearing. No wonder you need to escape some-" Ford looked to see Fiddleford curled up on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. “Fidds? You okay?”

“W-Who cares if I'm a promiscuous little shit? It ain't their lives I'm ruining.” Ford sat with Fiddleford and put an arm around him, holding him tight. “I always hate it when they come to visit. I feel like I'm on trial.”

“They just care about you…”

“I know. But it still… it feels like I'm burdening them with my existence sometimes. I wish the Pines wouldn't worry about me.” Fiddleford leaned into Ford's hold, remembering how he and his Ford would sit like this whenever some shenanigans went down. Visiting one or the other's family and a fight broke out. The jocks from the cedar building dorms outside their window yelling slurs and throwing things. Almost getting mugged because Fiddsy is a stupid farm boy, not a city kid, why did he trust a complete stranger-

“Fidds?” Ford’s voice brought Fiddleford out of his thoughts. He looked up at Ford with tears in his eyes. “It’s okay... I’ve got you.”

_I’ve got you._

Those words hit Fiddleford like a brick. Memories of how his Ford would say that came flooding back. How those three words in that exact tone calmed every panic attack. Fiddleford relaxed in Ford’s arms, practically sprawling onto the other man with a snuffle.

“Y-You got me?”

“I’ve got you.”

Fiddleford felt a euphoria he hadn’t felt in decades. A sense of security that no other Ford had ever left him with. Every other Stanford that he’d had relations with were often too caught up in their own personal dilemmas to comfort him. Often, in the moment they were both trying to forget, and he left the encounter feeling just as empty as before. But now? This Ford was... indistinguishable from his own. Just as kind. Just as selfless. Just as gentle. Fiddleford looked back up to meet Ford’s eyes, and felt an overwhelming urge to close a gap that had been slowly shrinking.

“We should make food, Fiddleford.”

He gave a curt nod before standing and continuing to prepare food in silence. Fiddleford’s mind raced and wandered as he thought of all that he was screwing up by even having this Ford here. He was taking a risk with not only the reactions of the Pines, but his own emotions. He was falling in love with the first Ford to show him genuine emotion. And he damn well knew that.

Luch went by with few words from anybody. The heavy silence that lingered in the room was made thick by Tate’s glares. Fiddleford’s gaze was glued to the floor, and as soon as he finished eating, he left his plate in the kitchen and flew upstairs. Ford followed suit, concerned.

Coming to the office, Ford could hear Fiddleford sobbing quietly inside, a locked door between them. “Fidds.” No response was given to him aside from some more hushed sobs. “Fiddleford. Please.” With no further response, Ford pulled out a credit card and slipped it into the door. He gently made his way into the room and spotted the darkened wood from the incident that had been described to him. A permanent reminder of that pain. Fiddleford could be heard choking back tears beneath the desk, allowing Ford to find him.

“Go away.”

“What did I do to deserve you pushing me away all of the sudden?”

“You-” Fiddleford shot Ford a terrified expression. “You’re making me fall for you.”

Ford felt a genuine surprise at the statement, his eyes going wide. “I mean... It’s only natural? I am an alternate version of your deceased lover, Fiddleford.” He was having a hard time believing his own words. Even when he thought he would never return home, he never fell for another Fiddleford. Only filled a gap that would empty again rather quickly.

“Yeah, but you’re  _different_. You... you’re just like him. The way you talk, the gentleness, your smile... every bit of you. I almost keep forgetting that... you’re not him.”

“Perhaps... I should return home early.” Ford winced at the hurt in this Fiddleford’s eyes. “My Fiddleford is already very sore with me. I... I wouldn’t want to do anything else I regret.” He looked away from Fiddleford with a pain in his chest. This was going to hurt him, but he needed it. “I shouldn’t have indulged you. I’m sorry, Fiddleford.”

“Wait!” As Ford began to walk away, Fiddleford caught his sleeve. “Please... d-don't leave me.”

“Staying is inadvisable. Y-You... you need to move on. And I’m not helping that.”

“Stanford, please!” The desperation in Fiddleford’s voice cut through Ford like a knife. “I... I don’t want to be alone.” His voice was laced with heavy pain as his chest tightened and he began to speak through sobs. “I... I don’t want to do something stupid...”

“I’ll be right back, Fidds. Just... just hold tight.” Ford slowly made his way downstairs, quietly pulling Filbrick and Caryn aside. “Keep an eye on Fiddleford. Stan and I are leaving early.”

“What do you mean, keep an eye on him?” Caryn’s voice was dripping with concern as Filbrick’s knotted and raised brows conveyed worry.

“He’s very fragile at the moment. He’s worked himself into a very delicate emotional state, and doesn’t know I’m leaving.”

“And... you’re sure that’s a good idea?” Filbrick asked with a hushed tone.

“He’s apparently falling for me, and I have my Fiddleford back home. We can’t risk him becoming any more attached.” Ford looked to the ground with a hard sigh. “He’s a close friend. Please keep an eye on him. Come on, Stanley.”

Calibrating the portal and stepping into the manor revealed the place as empty. Quiet. Ford felt a spike of adrenaline. What if his Fiddleford had a moment of hysteria and-? He made his way to his and Fiddleford’s bedroom, relieved to find his boyfriend intact, albeit lying in bed and facing away from the door.

“FIdds?” He approached the southern man, gently resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Stanferd... do ya really love me?” His voice was hoarse and subdued.

“I- Of course I do! What makes you think I don’t?”

“Because look at me!” Fiddleford sat up suddenly to pointedly look at Stanford. “The other Fidds was right. I‘m broken, Stanford.”

“W-What? No...” Ford held his hand in an attempt to comfort him. “You aren’t... broken, Fidds. Just... different.”

“Don’t give me that, I destroyed myself.” Fiddleford yanked his hand away and flopped back on the bed with arms crossed, not looking in Ford’s direction. “If I disgust ya or make ya feel uncomfortable, you can leave me. You don’t need to stay with a husk of a human being.”

“Fidd-”

“Just GO!” Fiddleford held back a sob, curling into a tight ball. “You deserve that other Fiddleford. He’s better for ya.”

“Fidds, no-”

“Stanferd... I’m probably gonna be dead in a few years anyway with how poorly I’ve taken care of myself. G-Go... go love somebody who’ll rival yer lifespan.”

“But-”

“I mean it, Stanferd. I ain’t worth fussin’ over.” Fiddleford sat up and gave him a tear-filled smile. “I’m okay. Ya don’t need me holding ya back.”

“Why are you pushing me away all of a sudden?”

“I have a brain tumor, Stanferd.”

“W-what?” Ford went cold as he let that statement settle.

“Yeah, apparently when you zap your brain with radiation, it has side effects. But you told me that already didn’t ya?”

“When did you...?”

“I went to the doctor while you and Stan were on your boat trip. They told me on the second trip that it wasn’t benign. And it’s growing.”

“Why aren’t you... getting treatment?” Ford felt dizzy and nauseous. He can’t be losing Fiddleford. Not like this.

“I... it won’t help. I’d rather die with dignity than spend the rest of my life in a hospital bed.” Fiddleford placed a hand on Ford’s cheek and let tears slip through.

“Fiddleford... why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want ya to worry. I know how ya get.” He gently pressed his lips to Ford’s before laying back down. “I’m a bit tired. If ya wanna stay, go ahead and stay. But I’m gonna nap.”

Ford left the room and leaned against the door before letting silent sobs shake his body. He saw Tate round the corner before coming over to place a hand gently on his shoulder. All at once, his façade crumbled and he finally let his tears fall with quiet wails, sliding to the floor.


End file.
